


You've Got That Power Over Me

by patdkitten



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 19:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18288461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/pseuds/patdkitten
Summary: Hedgewitch Louis is new to Hedgehog Harbor, near the tip of Door County, having inherited his great aunt’s house and her responsibilities. He thinks it’s going to be a simple life, like some variation of the great aunts from Practical Magic, where he spends his days whipping up potions for lovelorn women.However, his very first day in Hedgehog Harbor involves finding a dead body of a woman in his kitchen and a particularly nosy firefighter, who keeps crossing Louis’ path.And then there’s a strange trio of children that Louis keeps seeing around….





	You've Got That Power Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> A few things to start off with:  
> \- If you've read my other witch!Louis fic, although some of the locations are the same, this is not set in the same "universe"  
> \- All the places mentioned (minus Louis' and Harry's houses) are, for the most part, real locations found in Door County Wisconsin, although Hedgehog Harbor no longer exists (it's now called Gills Rock)  
> \- The ghosts/ghost stories mentioned in this fic are real; the fae sightings, not so much, although I believe Door County does have nisse carvings around the area because there's a large Scandinavian vibe up there. That being said, nisse in lore are mostly male, I couldn't find any suggestion of female ones (I could be wrong)  
> \- To add to the last point: as far as I know, black eyed children have not been spotted in Door County OR Wisconsin  
> \- Title comes from Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy
> 
>  
> 
> Like all works of fiction, this fic didn't function in a vacuum.  
> Shout out to my fanartist [Toni](https://hazzabeeforlou.tumblr.com/)  
> Also shout out to my cheerleading crew of Sheri, Lorna and Tanni

The road is quiet with no cars driving by, framed by trees clinging to their brittle leaves. The homes that line the road, few as they are, are equally quiet with owners that are either already hunkered down for the winter or have flown off to more warmer climates.

 

There's no one to see the arrival of the newest member of the sleepy little village of Hedgehog Harbor, strange as that arrival is.

 

Louis' scuffed up Converse meet with the gravel that separates the road from the lawn of the house he'd landed in front of. It takes him a few minutes to remove the battered cat carrier and duffel bag from the front of the floating broom before he can tuck the broom into his armpit and turn around to look at his new home.

 

He's not sure just what he was expecting, but this... this is most definitely  _ not _ it. Door County looks about as drear and grey as the country he'd left behind hours ago, with about as much snow.

 

His blue eyes scan the scene in front of him: the barren lawn, the scruffy trees, the Cape Cod in need of a fresh paint job, the grey clouds he can see past the house. If he's honest, standing here in front of the house, he feels pretty lied to. His great aunt's letters had always been filled with stories of Wisconsin snows that started in late October and stayed until April. Dropping his gaze to the lawn again, the lawn that surrounded the house that his great aunt had called home for decades, all he sees is brittle brown grass.

 

In December. In Wisconsin.

 

He sighs, closing his eyes and mentally following the breath in and back out of his lungs, before adjusting the grip on both the cat carrier and the duffel bag and making his way up a pathway hidden by leaves. He's got a lot to do between now and the spring, he can tell. The leaves crunching under his feet makes him wonder who was supposed to be keeping up with the maintenance before someone else in the family took up residence in the old place.

 

There's more dead leaves on the covered porch, but the faded furniture that also populates the same space seems to be clear of the debris. It's on one of the latter – a wicker chair with a cushion that Louis thinks might have had a pattern of brightly colored flowers once – that he places the carrier before digging out a set of keys to unlock the front door.

 

Or rather, that was his intention. No sooner does his hand touch the doorknob than the front door swings open. Family history and weirdness associated with family or not, the door shouldn't do that, Louis knows.

 

He sets his duffel down next to the carrier, digging his cellphone out of a side pocket.

 

“It's 911 in the States, isn't it?” He asks aloud, but if he was expecting an answer, he gets none. He takes it as a sign to enter the house cautiously.

 

He's heard about the small town mentality that exists here in Door County and similar places where no one locks their doors at night or fears intruders. It's with that mindset that he makes his way through the first floor of the house. As he enters the kitchen at the back of the house, he's already of the opinion that he'll have to check upstairs and the basement before he stops in his tracks.

 

There's a young woman seated at the old kitchen table, slumped over in such a way that he doesn't need magic or to even get close enough to check for a pulse to tell she won't be getting back up. Her long blonde hair, pulled up in a high ponytail, splays across both the table and over her face, making it almost impossible to see her features.

 

“Well, fuck.”

  
  
  
  


 

It takes exactly 50 minutes for the emergency services to show up. It doesn't bode well if something awful – dead body aside – should happen, but then Louis isn't used to the small town life a place like Hedgehog Harbor offers.

 

He spends the time he waits in what he feels is a productive manner: split between figuring out where the nearest police station is – the sheriff's office is in Sturgeon Bay, nearly an hour away from his current location, he finds out – and keeping his eye on a trio of kids that have shown up across the street. Aside from a few birds flitting about in the half-bare trees and the cat in the carrier sitting on the porch behind him, the kids are the only sign of life he's seen since his arrival. He doesn't think they live in the house of the yard they're standing in, considering they're standing in the gravel by the side of the road and staring (he assumes, since the trio has their backs to him) up at the house.

 

Judging by the fact their clothing is a few decades out of date and the style of their hair, he's got a pretty good guess of what they are and that they pose no threat to either himself or his new hometown. For now.

 

As he continues to watch the kids, he can hear the start of quiet grumbling coming from the carrier behind him. He knows he should let Comfrey out of her carrier; the poor creature has been in there for hours at this point. But he doesn't yet know if the unexpected guest at his great aunt's died of natural causes – as if a young woman dies of natural causes – and he doesn't want more attention.

 

Not that he's gotten any since his own arrival. Even the trio across the street haven't seemed to notice him, and he knows they weren't there when he'd arrived over an hour ago.

 

His eyes are drawn away from the trio of kids as a fire engine and ambulance pull up in front of the house. He settles back on the front steps, propping his elbows against the deck as he watches a firefighter emerge from the truck to go talk to one of the EMTs.

 

“Better not have a real emergency,” Louis mutters to the cat, still watching with interest as the firefighter and EMT are joined by a police officer that had just arrived. “I know I called in a dead body and that means there's no rush to get them to the nearest hospital, but seriously?”

 

Comfrey offers nothing in response and it would seem that the appearance of the emergency crew scared off the trio of children across the road. He's just about to push himself to his feet and go see if there's been some confusion about whether or not the emergency crew is at the right house when the police officer finally comes up the walkway.

 

“Are you the individual who called in the dead body?” The officer states more than asks, pulling out a small notebook and pen from a pocket of his neatly pressed blue uniform.

 

Louis doesn't immediately answer, watching the officer jot a few things down before standing. In fact, he's wondering what the man even wrote down considering there's nothing outside to note. “I did. Found the front door open, made my way inside and found her in the kitchen.”

 

The officer's brown eyes flick from his notebook to Louis, taking a second glance. “You're new around here, aren't you?” He turns meaningfully toward the street, where the fire engine, ambulance and police car still sit. “Don't see a car over there.”

 

“Took a taxi.” Louis deadpans, taking this man's measure in the same heartbeat the officer is taking his. Louis' new in a small town, and not having a car already makes him weird. Imagine what the man would say if he knew Louis had shown up on a broomstick. “All the way up from Green Bay. Arrived this morning from London.” He takes a step back, climbing up onto the first step of the porch. “Wanna see my passport to prove I couldn't possibly have murdered anyone?”

 

He's hoping he doesn't have to show the officer a plane ticket. Or proof he took a taxi. He can't wiggle his nose fast enough for either to show up without odd questions.

 

He's relieved when the officer shakes his head. “No, I believe you.” There's an underlying  _ for now _ that Louis chooses to ignore. His instincts are correct when the officer uses his pen to point at him as the officer passes him on the way into the house. “Just stay around town, got it?”

 

“Got it.” Louis manages, barely, to not roll his eyes as he answers, plopping down on one of the chairs on the porch. He's trying not to think about what having a dead body in his great aunt's house is going to mean for the time being. He certainly doesn't want to have to find a hotel or something in the area while it's being cleared up.

 

He leans forward in his chair to watch as the EMTs enter the house, leaving the firefighter standing outside of his truck. He wonders if the other firefighters are just sitting in the truck because they're not needed, or if the lone firefighter is the only one who responded.

 

Can a single firefighter drive a firetruck by themselves, he wonders. He doesn’t care nearly enough to Google it, he decides after a few minutes of watching the firefighter hang around by the truck and leans back in his chair.

 

Not long after he’s resettled himself, the EMTs come out long enough to retrieve the stretcher from the back of the ambulance. It’s only a few minutes after that that they come back out with the body in a black body bag, followed by the police officer.

 

“Good. You’re still here.” The officer says, and this time Louis notices the ‘Payne’ on the officer’s name badge. Officer Payne checks his little notebook for a moment before watching as the EMTs load the stretcher, body and all, into the ambulance. “Seems like the vic wasn’t killed here, so we don’t really need to clear the kitchen. You should be okay to use it without disturbing any evidence.”

 

“You’re so generous.” Louis deadpans, deciding he’s not interested in getting up and shaking hands with an officer who thinks he’s guilty of any sort of crime. “Am I still supposed to stick to town?”

 

“I would.” Officer Payne tips his hat to Louis, making his way down the steps to his car.

 

Louis watches as all the emergency vehicles make their leave: the ambulance followed by the cop car followed by the fire truck. He lets a slow breath hiss out through his teeth, addressing the cat in the carrier.

 

“Welcome to Wisconsin, I guess.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

Being from a huge city like London, there is a certain culture shock that occurs moving to a small village like Hedgehog Harbor. Louis had been aware that there would be some growing pains to settle into, fill shoes that his great aunt had left.

But being aware of that fact is not the same as seeing physical proof of it.

 

He’d had some vague notions of his great aunt being a hedgewitch to the residents of Hedgehog Harbor specifically, and to the entire Door County as a whole, bridging the gap between the real world and the other worlds. When he was a child, before he properly came into his own magic at the age of sixteen, he’d always imagined that a hedgewitch like his great aunt lived in a rambling shack in the middle of the forest, luring children away from their overprotective parents with gingerbread and mixing magical potions to curse the lovers of jilted women.

 

Now, though, settling into the gingerbread Victorian his great aunt had left him, he’s more convinced she was less like the wicked witch in old fairy tales and more like the aunts in that one movie with Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman.

 

There’d be a few times after his move into the house where he wondered how people would know that the place had changed from one witch to another, or even if he’d have anything to do while he waited for the local police to figure out why there’d been a dead woman in his kitchen. He figured that he’d have a quiet winter with only people determined to hire his services while he figures out small town (witchy) life; his great aunt had always mentioned that Door County’s tourist season is more summer than winter, even though the area has a whole list of things to do in the winter time.

 

But he’d underestimated the power of gossip in a small town. Hell, the power of gossip in a  _ series _ of small towns.

 

After the police had left and he’d gotten a chance to look around, he’d discovered - among other things - that his great aunt had owned an SUV. That was good; he’d remembered the look Officer Payne had given him when there’d been no car out front on Louis’ arrival, and there was only so much Louis could do with a broomstick. He’d also found out that he was going to get plenty of use out of the SUV: it turned out that the nearest grocery stores are further down the coast.

 

It’s in one of said grocery stores - Main Street Market in Egg Harbor, in fact - that Louis has his first brush with the aforementioned small town gossip.

 

He’s weighing out cherries - locally grown of course, although just a tad out of season this late in the year - when someone stops short of running into him.

 

“You’re that new witch.” The voice is male, low and slow, like the speaker is still working out how he knows Louis.

 

_ “That’s more than I know about you, _ ” Louis thinks as he turns to the man. And stops.

 

The man before him is incredibly handsome, with intense green eyes and brown hair pulled back into a loose bun. He’s staring at Louis with those green eyes, with an intensity that Louis’ never had focused on him before. Like he knows Louis, even though Louis’ never seen this man before. Even though the man clearly isn’t sure how he knows Louis.

 

At least, he thinks he’s never met the man before. Hedgehog Harbor isn’t like London; in London, you can run into people multiple times a day and you’ll never know their names. That’s not how little towns like Hedgehog Harbor works, he’s noticed. Everyone knows everyone, and even though he’s still relatively a stranger to the area, Louis’ seen enough of the people who live near him to know what they look like, if not their names.

 

“I beg your pardon?” He finally says, tying the bag shut and putting it in his cart. He hasn’t decided yet what he wants to do with the cherries, but he’ll think of something.

 

“You’re the witch.” The man repeats, but this time, he’s even more sure of that fact. He also sounds like he’s figured out how he knows Louis. At least that makes one of them. “The one who lives in that old gingerbread house up by Ellison Bay.” There’s only a few steps between the two men, and the stranger closes the distance, dropping his voice. “The house that had that dead body a couple weeks ago.”

 

Louis’ not a particularly short person. He’s about average height for a man, which means he can look most other men directly in the eye. But not this man. This man has a few inches on Louis, forcing him to look up into those green eyes.

 

And he doesn’t like that very much.

 

“If you’re implying that I had anything to do with that woman’s death, you’re sadly misinformed.” Louis says, sidestepping the man with the green eyes and pulling his cart with. “Also, witches don’t exist, because magic isn’t real.” He adds, lying through his teeth as his attention is pulled to a pair of pastel wisps arguing in high pitched tinkling voices over equally out of season pints of blackberries.

 

He’s never seen fairies argue over produce in a grocery store before. Hell, he’s never seen fairies in  _ wintertime _ before. Granted, they’re not spirits he normally works with, but his mum had primarily worked with elementals. Fairies and other creatures like them had been commonplace in Jay’s garden and kitchen back home.

 

“Lots of people thought the previous occupant of that house was a witch.” The man points out, clearly not about to give up the ghost. ( _ “Ha.” _ Louis laughs privately at the joke.) “Like the sort from Practical Magic. You know,” he wags his head from side to side, like he’s sharing a private joke with Louis. “You have a man problem, you go see that lady, and suddenly…” he waved his hands at Louis, fingers spreading. “Problem gone.”

 

Louis had been willing to just write the man off as a crackpot, someone who didn’t know what he was talking about, but the comment about his great aunt’s abilities being like the movie Practical Magic gives him pause. After all, he’s already come to the same conclusion, and he’s absolutely of the magic-having, card-carrying member of the witchcraft community. Louis knows his stuff.

 

What his aunt had done for the communities of Door County is absolutely why Louis’ here: to continue on with her tradition.

 

But he’s not willing to concede any of that to this man.

 

Ignoring the fairies for the time being, he turns to the man and tilts his chin up. “Are you telling me my great aunt was a mass murderer? Is that why you think I murdered that woman I found in my kitchen?”

 

“That’s not -,” The man begins but Louis talks over him, closing the distance between them once again.

 

“That I showed up here, found someone who didn’t belong and,” he brings his hands up, spreading them the same way the other man had before, “Poof, problem solved? And then, after I murdered a woman, I called  _ 911 _ to report an emergency?”

 

The man’s jaw - it’s a very nice jaw, quite chiseled, in a way that makes the man’s entire face look like it was carved from marble by the hands of an elven craftsman - works furiously a moment. “That’s not -” He begins again, cutting himself off and taking a deep breath before he begins again. “I don’t think you killed her. The police checked out your alibi anyway.”

 

“The police.” Louis repeats. It’s not a question, not even much of a statement. But it makes the other man huff and nod.

 

“Yeah. Payno checked into your alibi and you were in London when the victim was murdered.” There’s a huffy tone to the man’s voice like he wants to roll his eyes, but he’s just professional enough to not do it.

 

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, fixing the man with a look. “You don’t look like a police officer. I have no idea who this Payno is. I definitely didn’t catch your name in any of this conversation. And should you really be discussing ongoing police cases with a possible suspect, even if they’re exonerated by circumstances, in a public place like a supermarket?”

 

The man’s jaw works furiously again, like he’s just aware of their current surroundings, before he turns and walks away without so much as a goodbye.

 

“Harry’s usually nicer than that,” a squeaky voice by Louis’ ear suddenly pipes up, making him start.

He turns his head and comes, well, not  _ exactly  _ face to face - more like face to entire body - with a pair of icy pale, thin looking creatures fluttering in mid-air. A pint of blackberries, the berries starting to look a bit frostbitten, is being held aloft between the two of them.

 

Force of habit makes Louis reach up to take the pint from the two fairies, setting it in his cart. “Let me buy that for you two. It’s the least I can do as the new witch in your territory.”

 

“You’re Alice’s boy!” One of the creatures gasps excitedly, its pale pastel wings a blur in its excitement as it presses its tiny hands to its mouth. There’s a hint of winter in the air as the slight breeze generated brushes Louis’ skin.

 

“Well, not Alice’s boy, as Alice didn’t have any children.” The other points out, flitting to explore the items already in Louis’ cart. It lands on the edge of the cart, inspecting the bag of cat food. “You’ve a cat. Alice didn’t have one of those.”

 

Louis doesn’t know which of the fairies had first spoken, and knows better than to ask straight out. He also knows that fairies are easily distractible. “I’m Louis. Alice was my great aunt.”

 

“It was very sad when her season ended.” The fairy buzzing around Louis’ head says, finally settling in the cart as well, inspecting the pint of blackberries again. “There was much mourning in all the lands.”

 

“It was very hard on the family.” Louis admits carefully, trying not to smile at the fact the little creature reminded him of his nan continually changing her mind about the fruit she was buying. “What did you mean by that comment about Harry?”

 

“Huh?” Both fairies look up at him in confusion in typical fairy fashion. He’d been right; between the blackberries and his introduction, the fairies had forgotten mentioning someone.

 

“You said that Harry’s normally nicer than that.” Louis turns his cart toward the aisles, continuing his shopping.

 

“Oh!” One of the fairies says after a moment, giggling. It’s the one sitting on the pint of blackberries, kicking its little feet in its amusement. “He’s a firefighter from where the silly goats are. Harry’s a nice one.”

 

The firefighter comment makes him stop. The solo firefighter that had lounged outside the house that first day Louis had been in town. Of course. No wonder he’d known about the murder, known about the police having checked his alibi. Also, he wonders if the Payno Harry had mentioned was Officer Payne.

 

“We like Harry.” The other fairy pipes up. “He’s only human, but he likes to leave little houses for us.”

 

It’s so cute, so endearing, that it makes Louis a bit mad that Harry seems to dislike him without knowing him. He’s also a bit of a hypocrite; he’s hating on Harry without knowing the man himself. Cauldron, kettle.

 

If he ever runs into Harry again, he’s going to apologize for the attitude he’d given him. Even if he felt like it was merited, being treated like a suspect.

  
  
  
  


Less than a week after the encounter with Harry at the grocery store, Louis’ woken up from a sound sleep by the sound of crashing in his kitchen and a woman’s voice “tut-tutting” from the first floor. His first instinct, understandably, is to grab his phone, but before he can dial 911, he catches sight of Comfrey blissfully asleep on his bed.

 

If someone had broken in, the cat wouldn’t be sleeping through the noise.

 

With that thought in mind, he sets his phone back down and pulls on a shirt as he pads carefully downstairs.

 

“Oh dear, oh dear.” The woman continues to tut, the voice coming from the kitchen. He hears another crash, covering up his footsteps as he makes his way to the kitchen. He hesitates outside the doorway, not sure what he’s about to see in the kitchen, before all noises cease.

 

“You better come in, dear.” The voice says after a moment’s pause. “I made breakfast, but everything’s not the way it was.”

 

Louis sticks his head into the kitchen warily, catching sight of an elderly woman bustling around the kitchen like she’s the lady of the house. She has the sleeves of her white top pushed up to her elbows as she moves around the room, putting the finishing touches to what looks like a full English breakfast.

 

It makes him feel homesick, but he still hesitates, glancing at the woman. He’s reminded of the dead woman he’d discovered the first day he’d arrived. Could she have -?

 

The strange woman stops in her tracks as if he’d said the question aloud, turning toward him with a scowl on her face. She looks a bit like his nan, but her clothes are definitely not English in the least. Her full attention on him makes him realize she’s not even human. No wonder Comfrey hadn’t woken up. “I didn’t kill that dreadful woman.”

 

She comes over to Louis, fussing and clucking over his sleep-mussed hair as she leads him to the kitchen table, groaning under the bounty lying on it. She seats him deftly, patting his arm like a warm hearted grandmother, and it’s the sight of her hand with its four fingers that fully settles it for him.

 

“You’re a nisse.” Louis says, feeling a bit stupid saying it out loud. He’s heard  _ of _ them, small little Scandinavian household spirits that resemble old men with long beards. He’s never met one, and he’s certainly never heard of a female nisse.

 

“Of course I am, dear.” She says cheerfully as she bustles and fusses around him some more, making sure his plate is piled high with food before she bustles away to the stove again.

 

He knows that he should eat the food the household spirit put in front of him, lest he insult her and cause all sorts of issues, but he’s never met - never mind seen - a nisse before, and he finds himself watching her interestedly. If he didn’t know better, if he hadn’t seen her hands, he really would’ve thought the cheerfully humming woman was a random grandmotherly lady who’d broken into his house to make him breakfast.

 

“You’ve been through so much this year,” The nisse chirps as she places a small plate of eggs and rashers on the floor, presumably for Comfrey because she places it near the half-full bowl of kibble. “I’ll forgo the offerings for the winter holidays with no mischief.”

 

“The winter -” Louis begins before his fork clatters to the plate in his shock. Christmas is coming? He must’ve forgotten it in the mess of moving here, finding a body, and trying to figure out what he was going to do.

 

“You poor dear.” The nisse suddenly appears at his side, picking up his fork and placing it back in his hand. “Are you ill?” She clucks, her four fingered hand pressing against his forehead. Her skin is cool against his skin, and makes him miss his mum, and his nan, a bit.

 

He finally shakes his head, dislodging her hand and picking his fork back up. “I’m fine. I’ve just lost track of days, and didn’t realize Christmas was this close.” He doesn’t add that it also means he’d forgotten his birthday’s so close. Admitting that out loud might actually make him homesick and he’s been doing so well, all things considered.

 

“You poor dear.” The nisse repeats gently, brushing Louis’ bangs out of his eyes before she’s bustling back toward the stove once more.

 

Louis eats in silence as he watches her move around the room. The nisse clearly appears to be at home in the kitchen, but none of his great aunt’s letters had mentioned that a nisse had lived in the house. He also wonders how that dead woman figured into his great aunt’s house, if not her life. The nisse had called her a dreadful woman.

 

Comfrey pads into the room just as he’s finishing up his own breakfast, her nails clicking against the hardwood of the hallway and the tile of the kitchen. The little witch’s cat meows a greeting at the nisse like they’ve had a previous meeting before she tucks hungrily into the eggs the nisse had left for her.

 

“Do you-” Louis begins, pausing and clearing his throat before starting over. He might be getting a free pass from the nisse for not having an offering for Christmas, but he’d rather not be rude in case she takes said free pass back. “This is the first time I’ve seen you, and I didn’t know my great aunt’s home came with a nisse.”

 

The nisse smiles warmly at him, setting a cup of tea in front of him. He can tell that she’s already made it exactly the way he likes it, and sure enough, when he takes a sip, it’s absolutely  _ perfect _ .

 

“I don’t come with the house exactly,” The nisse begins as she turns her attention to the pile of dishes in the sink. “I come with the land, and your great aunt has been more than generous to me and others like me. Other witchfolk would just come in and separate the other lands from this one, but your family made us welcome in her home.” Her warm brown eyes snuck a look over at him. “A lot of the fae are hoping you’re cut from the same cloth.”

 

“I’d like to think I am.” Louis says as he smiles at her.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The last few days of December pass in much the same way. Louis meets more and more of the fae around the area, and a few of the humans, but he doesn’t have much to do in the way of witchcraft besides his own rituals. He also hasn’t found out where the silly goats the winter sprites had mentioned lived, but he does seem to keep bumping into Harry, although they never exchange more than the briefest of greetings when they do.

 

He keeps bumping into Harry quite often after that first time in the grocery store. Second time if one counts having found a dead body in one’s new kitchen, and Louis would rather not. If this were a cozy mystery, Louis would’ve solved it within the first week to the consternation of Officer Payne and Firefighter Harry. But it’s not, and as far as Louis can tell, there’s no leads.

 

But. Harry. Louis’ actually pretty sure Harry’s following him by the third or fourth time they cross paths, especially since Louis’ not doing anything else but admiring the frozen bay at the boat launch down the road from where Louis lives.

 

The end of December has brought actual snow - snow, not the icy rain Wisconsin has been having - to the area, finally, and Louis’ watching the snow fall softly and the tiny frost sprites skating on the frozen bay when he hears a truck come to a stop behind him. Now, there are two cruises in the area that have their launches from where Louis is standing, and there’s also two tiny little shops in the same area. But Louis knows that whoever’s driving this truck is looking for him in particular.

 

Call it witch’s instinct, he supposes as he turns around, a small lonely figure standing before a frozen wonderland.

 

Harry climbs down out of the truck, ducking back into the cab briefly to pull out a pet carrier. That task done, the firefighter turns toward Louis. He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to plunge into a pool or perhaps the bay that lies past Louis, and Louis takes the opportunity to get a better look at the firefighter.

 

He’s dressed more warmly than Louis is, that’s for sure, in a grey, green and beige ski jacket and blue jeans, with brown and black snow boots. He looks like a Wisconsin native, and just serves to remind Louis how far from home he really is.

 

Finally, Harry crosses the distance between the two men, using the carrier as a shield when he’s finally close enough.

 

“Someone told me to bring you this,” Harry says as a greeting, and it’s anyone’s guess what ‘this’ is as Louis’ gaze drops to the carrier questioningly. “Normally, I would’ve just brought her to the shelter in Sturgeon Bay, but…”

 

“But?” Louis prompts, taking the carrier when the firefighter doesn’t immediately respond, just pushing the carrier on him. The angle the carrier’s being shoved at means he can’t see into it, but the occupant hisses a bit at the rough treatment. “I don’t run an animal rescue.”

 

“Every witch needs a cat, don’t they?” Harry points out like he thinks Louis’ being intentionally stupid, shoving his hands into his coat pockets now that the carrier is out of them. His green eyes skitter around for a bit, tracking from the carrier to Louis to their surroundings and finally settle on something just over Louis’ left shoulder.

 

Louis had been trying to get the cat to calm down enough so he could get a good look at it, but Harry’s words cause him to look up at him. He doesn’t deny that he’s a witch, but considering his last interaction with Harry had been on the hostile side, this makes him feel like he’s lost a step somewhere. “You thought I was a murderer. And now you’re giving me a cat?”

 

“Every witch needs a cat.” Harry repeats like he’s reading from a script that only exists in his head, shoulders hunching against the wind that’s sprung up. His gaze finally settles back on Louis, and he looks like he’s suddenly unsure of what he’s done. “Don’t they?”

“I have a cat already.” Louis hedges carefully, the carrier lowering a bit. The occupant hisses a bit at the motion, but doesn’t seem all that bothered. He knows he should give the cat back, isn’t entirely sure how Comfrey is going to react to this new family member.

 

“Then you need another one.” Harry shrugs a bit, and Louis wonders if Harry’s a mind reader. If Harry’s aware that Louis’ already considering keeping the cat. “You look like you’d love a house filled with cats.”

 

“I’m not a crazy cat lady.” Louis huffs, feeling his cheeks redden. He tells himself it’s because of the wind that’s making Harry hunch and not because, well. Harry’s  _ right.  _ And now he’s got the space to do it. Who wouldn’t love a real witch’s house full of witch’s cats?

 

“Could’ve fooled me….” Judging by the expression on Harry’s face and the shuffling of his feet, it must’ve slipped out. He coughs, shuffling his feet again. “I wasn’t sure if you know anyone around here, but there’s a polar bear swim in a few days. Jacksonport.” Another shuffling of feet. “You should come.”

 

Louis keeps getting distracted by Harry’s shuffling feet, the firefighter’s feet pigeon-toeing out whenever they’re still, and almost misses what Harry’s saying. “What in the world is a polar bear swim?”

 

A small mysterious smile crosses Harry’s face. It’s a welcome difference from the nervous expression Harry’d had previously, and the suspicious expression Harry’s had before that. “I’ll pick you up in a few days then.”

 

He gives Louis a little salute and heads back to his truck.

 

It takes a moment of confusion at the change of events that makes Louis shake himself. “Wait! What do I wear to a polar bear swim?!”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

January dawns bright but cold. The past few days, Louis’ spent what felt like hours trying to figure out what a polar bear swim was and he can safely say that he’s not even sure how running into freezing cold water sounds like a great time. He’s not even sure what he should wear, what would keep him warm from that freezing cold. He finally settles on pulling on a wetsuit he’d found in a particularly helpful closet of the house, pulling on jeans and a long sleeved shirt over it. He also tucks a change of clothing, including underwear, into a knapsack.

 

“Do people wear their clothes into the water?” He asks aloud to the house, glancing toward the pair of cats lounging on his bed. Calico Comfrey and tuxie Laurel - the cat Harry had foisted off on him a few days ago - look back at him with equally bored expressions on their feline faces before both cats return to their morning baths.

 

“I feel like this is a mistake.” He goes on to no one in particular, feeling like he’s been dismissed by the cats. “But Harry’s right. I don’t really know anyone in the area besides the fae and a couple neighbors.”

 

He scrubs his face with both hands, taking a deep breath and making his way downstairs with the knapsack. The resident nisse has been through his kitchen and left a bowl of warm oatmeal and a cup of coffee in her wake. He’s grateful for the warming meal and the nisse’s forethought for it as he sits down in his chair to tuck in.

 

Almost on cue as Louis finishes the last bite of his oatmeal, the doorbell rings. There’s a tinkling of laughter from somewhere in the house - it reminds Louis that he hasn’t properly gone through the house to see what needs doing beyond what he needed so far - and he gets up to answer the door.

 

Harry stands on the other side, a grey furry hat pulled down over his brown curls and a softer grey scarf wrapped around his neck. “Hey. You ready for your first polar bear swim?”

 

“I don’t see how anyone finds them fun.” Louis says drolly as he grabs his phone, the knapsack and his keys. “They sound  _ freezing _ .”

 

“They are.” Harry admits with a wide grin as he leads the way to his truck. “But they’re invigorating and it’s a huge deal around here. Lot of people show up. Even makes the local news.”

 

“It makes the news?” Louis looks dubious as he climbs up into Harry’s truck. “I knew small town life was different and I’m definitely seeing the difference, but doesn’t anything more interesting than idiots going into freezing cold water happen around here?”

 

“Occasional suspicious death.” Harry points out, glancing over at Louis, a bit of the old suspicion in that glance. Like he was surprised Louis had forgotten about finding a  _ dead body _ in his house upon arrival to Door County.

 

Truth be told, Louis mostly tries to forget he  _ had _ found a dead body. Especially since nothing seems to be coming from whatever investigation’s being done about it.

 

The drive down to Jacksonport is quiet, Louis looking out at parts of Door County he hasn’t seen yet. It’s funny what you miss when you’re driving through it, or flying on broomstick far above it. He knew that Door County was heavily forested, broken by wide swathes of rolling fields,  orchards, and sweeping views of the waters around the peninsula the county sits on. Everything is currently buried under snow, and Louis wonders what it’ll look like come spring, summer even.

 

They finally arrive at their destination, a parking lot that overlooks a beach that slides into ice. The parking lot is nearly full and he can see at least one news van. The news van, with the handsome 20-something reporter talking into a microphone and smiling winningly into a camera, reminds Louis of what Harry had mentioned, that something like this polar plunge makes the local news.

 

He doesn’t know how that makes him feel, especially when some people (like Harry previously) in the area think he’s a murderer and others are either aware of his being a witch or think it’s only rumor. He wonders what people in that news’ viewing area would think if he was a news story on his own.

 

Louis shakes himself, shivering a bit in the chill of the air after the warmth of the truck as he looks out at the crowd gathered. It’s a cheery atmosphere, like it’s the middle of the summer and not the first of the year and everyone’s just waiting for the go ahead to plunge into the water. There were a few non-humans in the crowd, and a few winter sprites glinting in the sunlight overhead.

 

His gaze slides from the dancing and weaving sprites to a trio of children off to one side of the crowd, watching the goings on with obvious detachment. He frowns as he takes in their unusual clothing, their unusual hairstyles. It’s been a while since he’s seen them, or other kids that look like them, prowling around, and he’s never heard of their kind with such large territories.

 

As one, the trio of kids turn to look in Louis’ direction. Even though there’s plenty of distance between him and the trio, the sight of those detached, black gazes sends a chill down Louis’ spine that he can’t dismiss as just the nip in the air.

  
  
  
  
  
  


January marches on after the polar plunge, feeling a lot like that initial dip of cold water. Louis spends most of the month wondering if he’ll ever get truly warm again, trudging back and forth from the log pile in his backyard to the fireplace that holds court in his living room. Comfrey and Laurel have found their spots in front of said fireplace and barely move whenever Louis has company come over.

 

It’s not a major uptick in company, really. It’s mostly local women that had sought out his great aunt for their various issues and are curious to see just what sort of person, what sort of  _ witch _ her replacement is.

 

He’d known from that encounter with Harry a few months back, and even before that, that plenty of people in the area were whispering the word “witch” behind his back. Now, though, it seems like the gossiping behind his back have come out of the shadows, bolstered by curiosity to see where someone had died.

 

Louis isn’t sure what to tell them; he’s barely sure on what exactly they’re looking for when his guests come looking for…. Something that he can’t produce in a cauldron or on his stove. If they’re looking for the ghost of the poor murder victim - and he can always hear the resident nisse cluck her tongue whenever a visitor makes soft soothing sounds to Louis about how sorry they are that he had to come across such a horrible thing - there’s nothing to  _ find _ .

 

He wants to tell each and every one of them they’ve got a better chance of seeing one of the ships on the bay than they do of finding a ghost in his kitchen. But he doesn’t, and sends each person home with a small bottle to solve whatever issue had brought them to his door in the first place.

  
  
  
  
  


 

February proceeds like January did, the air clutching its frozen fingers around Louis’ lungs whenever he finds himself on the dock near his house to watch the filmy sails of ghost ships make their terrible way through Porte des Morts. He’s never seen ghost ships before Door County, although surely some exist in the waters back home, and he wonders what he’d see if he were to fly over their decks on his broom.

 

He misses riding on his broom, if he’s honest. It’s too cold for takeoffs, and he can’t even imagine what it’d feel like at the proper height for flight.

 

But at least there’s snow now. There’s a  _ lot  _ of snow.

 

He hates every single inch of it.

 

After the first snowfall of the new year, Louis had discovered that his great aunt owned a snowblower and although it had taken a few tries to get used to the machine, he’s practically an expert as the end of the short month looms on the horizon.

 

He’s just finished blowing out after the latest snow storm that hits Wisconsin and is pushing the bulky machine back into his garage when a truck he knows well enough - although the snowplow attached to the front end is new to him -  pulls into his driveway and Harry gets out.

 

“Beginning to suspect you’re stalking me.” Louis tells Harry in greeting as he maneuvers the snowblower into its place in the garage. “But then again, that would mean I see you more often than I do.”

 

He’s considering keeping the conversation this short and just go in, even though he has to admit he’s missed Harry. The polar plunge might’ve been freezing cold, much like the rest of the months of January and February, but once he’d gotten over his suspicion of Louis as a possible suspect, Harry’s definitely a warm person.

 

Plus, Louis just knows the resident nisse has already spied his guest and has coffee waiting for both of them.

 

“You wanna come in for a cup of coffee?” Louis adds, mittened thumb jerking toward the side door of the house. “I can wrangle creamer from the cats.”

 

Harry had been looking at the heaping piles of snow that line Louis’ driveway like he’s inspecting them to see if an outsider could really do a good job, but at the offer of coffee, his gaze turns toward Louis. “Yeah, sure. About that…”

 

Louis hesitates on the way inside, turning in the open door. Even though Harry can’t hear her, Louis can definitely hear the nisse chiding Louis for letting all the warmth out. “It’s just coffee.”

 

“No, no.” Harry’s gloved hands are up, patting the air as he follows Louis inside. “There’s a wildlife sanctuary down in Green Bay, but I’m wondering if you take in other animals besides cats.”

 

“I told you when you brought me the last cat that I didn’t run an animal sanctuary.” Louis points out after a moment’s consideration, stripping off his wet mittens, hat and scarf and hanging them up so they’ll dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the resident nisse leave the kitchen at the appearance of a human. “Might be better off taking whatever brought you here to that actual sanctuary.”

 

He’s curious, though. He wants to know what Harry thinks he’d be interested in taking care of. He doesn’t think it’s from one of the other planes; as far as Louis can sense, Harry’s perfectly  _ normal _ . He also knows that Harry thinks he’s a witch, even though that’s not a wrong thought to have. Why does that make Harry think Louis just takes in whatever animal needs his help?

 

“Your great aunt would’ve taken it in.” Harry says, his words breaking into Louis’ thoughts. They make Louis feel off-center, warm in an uncomfortable way. He doesn’t like the feeling. “Without question.”

 

Louis takes care to show that Harry’s words don’t affect him, however. He forces himself to act normal, putting his back to Harry as he takes out the creamer and sugar for the coffee waiting on the table. “I didn’t know you knew my great aunt beyond the gossip that she was a witch.”

 

“Witches take in all animals,” is the response behind him. It makes him turn around, but Harry’s already gone back outside.

 

It’s only for a couple minutes, though, before Harry’s returning with another carrier. He sets it down on the table, causing the mysterious occupant to hoot its annoyance at the action.

 

“Flew into a window,” Harry tells him as Louis peers in at a very small owl puffing up inside the box. The noise the creature is making - a whistling sound Louis' never heard an owl make before - causes Comfrey and Laurel to pad in from their warm spots by the fireplace, hopping up in kitchen chairs to peer at the newest member of the household.

 

Because Louis’ definitely going to be taking the owl in, even if it’s temporary.

 

“Just until it’s better.” He replies, giving Harry a minute’s consideration. “I’m not an animal sanctuary.”

 

Harry smiles warmly in response, sitting down in one of the two unoccupied chairs. “Great. Now. How do you feel about the Blizzard?”

  
  
  
  
  


 

Louis’ still convinced that Harry’s pulling his leg as March starts up and Harry sets a date for a Blizzard match. Harry tells him it’s an indoor football team - an indoor  _ American _ football league, Louis amends to himself - but Louis’ unconvinced. He’s not sure what else it could be; after all, with all the blizzards Wisconsin supposedly gets (and the last couple snow storms have certainly  _ felt _ like blizzards to Louis, huddled in a house near the tip of a peninsula), why in the world would they name a  _ team _ after the terrible weather condition?

 

He stays unconvinced the entire drive down to Green Bay, the 85 miles between home and what Harry tells him is the third largest city in Wisconsin full of snow covered fields and trees and the occasional small town, and he feels like he’s fully settled into his conviction as Harry’s truck pulls into the parking lot at Lambeau Field.

 

“Have to take you to a Packers game,” Harry says conversationally to Louis even as he turns to the parking lot attendant and paying the asked for $20 to park. “Or even just a tour of the stadium.”

 

“What the hell makes you think I’m a football fan?” Louis frowns as the truck parks facing the street and multiple buildings across from them. One of the buildings looks old and in need of an upgrade, the building beyond it rises up all glass and metal, while across a side street, a squat building sits behind a fenced in field. “Shouldn’t even be  _ called _ football. They don’t use their feet.”

 

“How very British of you.” Harry laughs as he shifts his truck into park and gets out. “I think you like the comradery that comes from being in a stadium full of sports fans.”

 

“You’ve got such weird ideas of what I like.” Louis makes a face as he follows Harry’s lead out of the parking lot and into the small crowd waiting for the light to change so they could cross the busy street. “First you think that… you know. And then the animal sanctuary thing. And now a football fan?”

 

“I apologize for the first thing.” Harry smiles a bit sheepishly over at him as they cross over, just another two people in the crowd. “But you can’t just live your life hiding away in a house and expecting people to visit.”

 

Louis opens his mouth to respond, but then his gaze is drawn to the first building. Across the street in the parking lot, he’d thought that it had been two separate buildings, but on this side of the street, the round building he’d seen is attached to a squat rectangular building with an orange roof. Multiple glass doors look out of the shorter building, darkened eyes watching the people heading for the bright glass-and-metal building past them. But it’s what’s standing in front of those darkened doors that had drawn Louis’ attention.

 

Standing there, watching Harry and Louis walk past with detached, dark gazes, are a trio of children dressed in clothing that’s a few decades out of date.

  
  
  
  


 

March warms up halfway through the month as Wisconsin inches toward spring, to the point Louis can get away from either a hoodie or a light jacket when he steps out of the house in order to check the state of his backyard with the melting snows. He's heard of flooding further south, and he's thankful that his house hasn't flooded like others.

 

The warmer weather also means he can travel by broomstick again without freezing his arse off.

 

Spring is only a few days away when Louis awakens to the sound of creaking timbers. He lays in bed drowsily, trying to place the strange sound in between matching purrs from Laurel and Comfrey in their warm little balls by his thighs and the self-satisfied tooting whistles of Holly, the small saw-whet owl Harry had brought him a few weeks ago. He's just starting to think it's coming from the house itself settling – it's an old house after all, for all that it's a witch house, surely it settles – when it dawns on him.

 

He practically flies out of bed, hurrying over to the window to see. Sure enough, out on the melting bay, the same ancient three masted ship he's watched a few times in the freezing cold, pushes its eternal way through the melting ice. He's never found out what the rough looking ship is called, or why it keeps trying to make its way around the tip of the peninsula down the road from him.

 

He gets dressed as quickly as he can, keeping an eye on the ship to make sure it doesn't disappear before he can make it down to the dock to watch it. If he's lucky, it's warm enough Louis can hop on his broom to fly over it.

 

It turns out to be warm enough that Louis can absolutely get away with nothing more than a cloak for warmth and he takes a moment to make sure his neighbors aren't watching before he takes off for the deck on his broom. The snowbirds are starting to come back, he's noticed, but for now, he's alone as he flies down his street to the dock, pulling the broomstick to a stop at the dock's edge.

 

He rests there a moment, glad his mother and his nan had drilled the proper way of sitting a broom into his head. “Modern” stories involving witchfolk seem to have been written by people who've never talked to actual witchfolk, with people riding brooms between their legs.

 

“Only children ride their brooms that way,” His mother had once said when he'd been learning, just a child himself. She'd held her broom out so he could see it, the warm ash wood gleaming in the autumn light as it floated gently above her fingers when she'd let it go. “It's not a horse, remember. So don't ride it like one.”

 

As his feet dangle above the icy bay, kicking idly at the air, Louis remembers the one time he'd forgotten that rule. He'd spent the next few weeks picking splinters out of his thighs and more sensitive areas. One sits on their broomstick like it's a chair and turns at the waist to steer it.

 

Sitting on his broomstick the proper way, he can watch as the ghost ship sails onto eternity. He's about to nudge the broomstick to continue toward the ship to satisfy his curiosity over what the deck of a ghost ship must look like when he hears a truck pull into a parking spot behind him.

 

A sound he knows by heart by now. A sound that, normally, would make Louis come back to the ground, but he's too distracted by the ghost ship for his feet to touch the ground again.

 

Until he hears the sound of Harry's boots running and a wordless shout and then Louis comes back to reality.

 

Or rather, the icy, icy waters of Green Bay. Somehow, he manages to avoid hitting any of the concrete or congregated metal that lines the dock overlooking the water, and the ice that lines the surface of the bay. The water is  _ freezing _ as his body plunges into it, the air in his lungs crushed out of them by the force of the cold. He hasn't forgotten the polar swim Harry had forced him to do a few months back and how freezing cold that had been, and this feels  _ exactly _ like that.

 

He's only in the water for a few seconds, but it feels like a few hours, and in that span of time, before he can kick his way back to the surface, pull himself back onto his broomstick, there's someone wrapping strong arms around him and pulling him up.

 

Their heads break the surface, Louis gulping down air just a fraction warmer than the water he's submerged in. He takes a moment, gulping down more air before he turns his head to find out who rescued him, although he thinks he has a pretty good idea.

 

“You were floating...” Harry's voice is soft, unsure like he doesn't want to say what he saw out loud in case it's not a dream. Like if he doesn't acknowledge what he'd just seen, he can just continue on with his life and only the  _ rumors _ of Louis being a witch.

 

Louis grimaces, looking up. The wall is too high for them to climb up the way they'd come, so to speak, and there's that rusted metal to contend with as well. His broomstick, however, is hovering just over their heads like a little lost wooden puppy.

 

“Hang on,” he tells Harry instead of answering Harry's non-question, reaching up with both hands to wrap them around the broom. The broom, responding to Louis' internal desire to get out of the freezing water, rises up, raising both men out of the water and back onto the pier.

 

Louis shivers in the air as his sodden sneakers hit the concrete once more, frowning at Harry. “Don't you know not to sneak up on people? It's rude.” His gaze drops down to their clothes, to the puddles they're both forming. “And now we're both soaked. I'm going home.”

 

He mounts his broom again, turning it toward his house and to the promise of a hot shower and warm clothes again, when Harry grabs his arm.

 

“I'm sorry. You're right.” Harry manages to get out between his chattering teeth. “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

 

Louis pulls his arm out of Harry's grasp, not willing to dignify that with a response, but before he can fly away, he turns back to him. “Come on. You can get out of those wet clothes at my place before you catch your death and someone adds another death to my tally.”

 

Harry nods, starting for his truck. Louis finds himself calling him back and flies his broom over to the other man before Harry can return back to his side.

 

“Hop on. I'll show you floating.”

 

Harry stands for a moment, awkwardly staring at Louis and the broom. Louis adjusts his grip on the wood of the broom, making it rise a fraction of an inch so Louis can look Harry in the eye properly.

 

“You know you want to.” He knows he was angry with Harry for plunging them both into the freezing cold water, and that he wants nothing more than to get warm once more. But he finds that, even with chattering teeth of his own, Louis' voice manages to find a teasing note. “I promise it's as safe as a car.”

 

Harry's green eyes drop to the broomstick before going back to Louis' eyes. “Alright.”

 

It takes a couple tries – Harry makes the initial mistake of climbing onto the broomstick like it's a horse and Louis has to coax him around to the proper seat – but then they're flying back to Louis' house. It's not the speed Louis would normally take, but Louis is both freezing and has a passenger that has never ridden a broom before.

 

“Is this why there wasn't a car that first day?” Harry asks, wonder in his voice as he wraps his arms around Louis' waist like he thinks it'll keep him on the broomstick. “How you arrived from London, I mean.”

 

“Only way to travel.” Louis shoots Harry a grin as he angles the broomstick down as they arrive by the deck. Their sodden shoes hit the front steps and Louis leads the way into the house.

 

“I think I've got some clothes that might be your size,” Louis says as he continues to lead the way, heading for the kitchen. Sure enough, there's already a matching pair of mugs full of warm tea waiting on the kitchen table and what looks like a fresh pot of chicken noodle soup Louis definitely doesn't remember sitting on the stove, happily burbling away. He makes a mental note to make sure to leave better offerings for the nisse; she's a lifesaver.

 

He passes one of the mugs to Harry, pointing back down the hall. “Take the stairs up to the second floor, bathroom’s on your left. Faucets are a bit finicky, but the water’s hot.”

 

Harry salutes him with the mug, following his directions and disappearing down the hallway. Louis takes a moment to compose himself and re-center himself. They might’ve started off on the wrong foot when Louis arrived, with Harry suspecting Louis of murder and the whole witch thing, but Harry’s not  _ unattractive _ and Louis isn’t  _ dead _ .

 

The shower turns on upstairs, causing Louis to take a deep breath and not think about it too much.

 

There’s gotta be something he can do while he waits to not focus on the fact he’s got a naked, fairly attractive man in his shower upstairs.

  
  
  
  
  


 

March leaves like a lamb, letting April in with plenty of thunderstorms. April also brings a change in Louis’ relationship with Harry. They’d been friendly enough once Louis was no longer a suspect in Harry’s eyes, if the constant bumping into each other even though Harry lives about half an hour away from Louis is any indication. It’s practically at a point where all Louis has to do is turn around and there’s Harry.

 

Before he knew Harry as a person, and before he’d known that he wasn’t a suspect in that woman’s murder, Louis would’ve thought Harry was stalking him. Now, though, Louis finds it almost endearing that Harry’s searching for him whenever Harry’s free from fighting the fires that pop up around Door County. It reminds him of that pair of winter sprites that had told him Harry was a good person.

 

He wouldn’t necessarily say they’re dating, if he were to put a name to whatever their relationship is at this point. But they’re definitely good friends at this point, brought together by that unfortunate dunking Harry had caused.

 

There’s not a lot of places open in Door County in April, various stores biding their time until May, when the cherry orchards bloom and tourist season begins in earnest. Or so Louis finds out from Harry, when the firefighter pops up on Louis’ doorstep one foggy April morning.

 

Louis had wondered why the nisse had made up two cups of coffee and a full breakfast for two people when he’d woken up, and it’s Harry’s arrival that makes him wonder if the fae folk know something he doesn’t.

 

Or if they’re just trying to push their new hedgewitch to the handsome firefighter. Stranger things have happened, dead body in his kitchen notwithstanding.

 

“I realized you didn’t have one of these,” Harry says by way of greeting on this particular dreary April day, holding up a Door County visitor guide. “You’ve been here for months and I’m a terrible guide.”

 

Louis isn’t sure what expression, or expressions, crosses his face as his gaze drops down to the picture of a couple paddle boarding on choppy water while a forested cliff rises up to meet blue-white sky. The words “Door County” is written in bold white font above the cliff, with “Peninsula & Washington Island” in smaller font just below. But he finds himself taking the offered guide.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” is what he says as he flips through the guide. Ads for stores, hotels, rentals, and restaurants line the pages, bright and shiny offerings for anyone who could possibly be interested in coming to the peninsula. A few definitely interest him.

 

He shakes himself after a moment, looking back up at Harry. “I made breakfast,” He fibs, rolling up the bulky magazine and using it to point over his shoulder. “Why don’t you join me? Get out of this rain.”

 

The wide smile that threatens to split Harry’s face makes Louis realize that Harry hadn’t thought he’d been a terrible guide and gotten him the visitor guide. It was only a way to get himself invited in.

 

Louis smiles to himself, stepping aside to let Harry in. It was a smooth move; he’s actually impressed with Harry for it.

 

He starts to shut the door when movement on the other side of the street catches his eye. He knows the neighbors directly across the street are recently back from their winter lodgings in Florida, and he thinks for a moment that it must be the husband coming out to get their morning paper.

 

But as his gaze turns toward the movement, he finds nothing out of the ordinary. He shuts the door on the feeling of being watched, deciding he’ll look into it later.

  
  
  
  


 

He doesn’t look into it later. In fact, Louis completely forgets that he’d felt watched until Harry leaves the following morning and the feeling returns as the two of them stand on the porch to say their goodbyes.

 

He’d thought the feeling of being watched was something only he’d felt until he catches Harry looking over his shoulder with a little frown.

 

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks carefully, not wanting to let on what he feels in case Harry isn’t feeling the same way. It’s one thing for Harry to be open and okay with the whole ‘Louis is really a witch’ thing, and an entirely different can of worms for Harry to know the full extent of what Louis does and what he can do. Harry hadn’t noticed the nisse watching with a contented smile as they’d eaten breakfast half an hour ago, or that their plates had refilled themselves at the exact rate they were hungry. As far as Louis can tell from their various excursions, Harry doesn’t have a single psychic bone in his body.

 

Harry shakes himself, pulling his hair back in a loose bun. He’s had long hair for as long as Louis’ known him, something Louis’ always viewed as a bit weird considering Harry’s a professional firefighter, and every so often, Harry will complain about the length of his hair, saying he’ll get it cut short at some point. Even though Louis thinks it’s weird that a firefighter has longer hair, he doesn’t know how he feels about the possibility of Harry cutting it, but he’s more than positive that whatever Harry does with it, he’ll look great in it.

 

Oblivious to Louis’ thoughts, Harry’s green gaze scans the houses, the treeline, the distant view of the water before he shakes himself again. “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched when you’re standing out here?” He hesitates, his gaze coming back to Louis’ face. “Or even just in general?”

 

Knowing he’s not alone, it makes Louis relax. “Sometimes. No one’s ever there when you look, though, are they?”

 

“Exactly.” Harry points at him with a warm smile, looking relieved. Like they’ve got something else in common. “They say a lot of Door County is haunted, you know.”

 

_ ‘Oh, how little you know about that’ _ , Louis can’t help but think, already remembering the number of ghost ships he’s seen on the bay and the few ghosts he’s seen in the area. But he smiles, wondering if denying it would make a book or two on the subject show up because Harry thinks it’s something Louis should know as a witch. Or even just a new member of the area.

 

“You don’t say.” He continues to smile, dropping his gaze when Harry brings up a hand to his cheek, cupping it warmly. Despite the knowing look the nisse had sent his direction this morning when Harry had padded down the stairs after him, nothing had happened last night besides Harry spending the night, since the morning fog had changed to rain and Harry hadn’t wanted to leave. Louis hadn’t wanted him to leave either.

 

“I do say.” Harry’s voice dropped an octave as he shuffled closer. His hand doesn’t drop from Louis’ face. “Can I ask a question?”

 

Louis doesn’t let him ask it, choosing instead to close the distance between them to press his lips to Harry’s. He doesn’t mean to make it any more than just a quick press of lips, nothing more serious than that, doesn’t want to push Harry into anything he’s not interested in if they’re not on the same page.

 

But they must be on the same page, because Harry’s other hand comes up to rest on the back of Louis’ neck as Harry deepens the kiss, like he’s chasing after something only he can taste in Louis’ mouth. Harry’s not the first person Louis’ ever kissed - there’s certainly been a few men in Louis’ past that he’s kissed, quite often even - but Louis doesn’t think any of those other people had  _ quite _ made his knees feel so weak as this kiss is making them feel.

 

Like Harry is the only person Louis ever wants to kiss from here on out. It makes him forget everything going on in his life, especially that feeling of being watched that had started the moment they’d both stepped outside.

 

He doesn’t know when he’d closed his eyes during the kiss, hadn’t even been aware he’d done it before he’s opening his eyes again as Harry pulls away. The expression on Harry’s face tells Louis that whatever he’s feeling, Harry’s feeling the same way.

 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks now…” Harry whispers into the air between them, licking his lips like he’s chasing whatever taste is left from Louis’ mouth on his. “Sorry if that was a bit forward.”

 

“I kissed you first.” Louis points out, mildly surprised his voice doesn’t shake. There’s a part of him that wants to invite Harry back into the house, see if that first kiss doesn’t turn into something else.

 

He’s about to ask Harry back inside to do just that, but before he can ask, Harry presses another kiss to his lips.

 

“I gotta go. I’ll see you around, though, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Louis whispers, smiling. He’s pretty sure he’s smiling like an idiot, and can’t find it in him to care.

 

Harry bites back a grin, his lower lip catching between his teeth as he reaches over to tap a finger against Louis’ lips. “It’s a date then. I’ll call you.”

 

“It’s a date.” Louis repeats, taking a few steps forward to lean against the railing to watch Harry cross over to his truck. The vehicle backs up out of Louis’ driveway, points itself toward 42, and drives off with Harry waving toward Louis as he goes.

 

The feeling of being watched had faded in the heat of the kiss with Harry, but it comes back twice as bad once the truck has turned onto Interstate 42. Louis turns his head to his neighbor’s house across the street, where he’d seen the movement out of the corner of his eye yesterday, and to his surprise, there’s a single kid standing in the yard watching him.

 

He thinks the kid must be a grandkid of his neighbors, visiting their grandparents now that they’re back in Wisconsin, and that they must not be used to watching two men kiss out in public. He’s ready to dismiss the kid altogether - it’s not  _ his _ job to explain that sometimes two men can kiss, just like a man and a woman - when something…. off about the kid catches his eye.

 

At first glance, the kid staring intensely at him from across the road looks like they’re about ten. But as he looks more closely, he notices a few things that are distinctively off about the child. For starters, they’re not wearing a coat against the slight nip in the April air. For another, the shirt and jeans they’re wearing look more suited for a movie that’s set a few decades in the past.

 

The kid’s dark eyes watch as Louis makes his way down the front steps before turning and walking around to the side of the house, disappearing before Louis can reach the road.

 

Louis runs a hand over his face, looking left and right down the road he lives on to see if he can see the other two kids he usually sees with his unusual visitor. He’s never seen just one of them. But he’s absolutely alone.

 

He crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing his arms against a sudden chill that runs down his spine. He’d like to think that the chill is related to the one in the air, because he’s never felt this kind of chill from any fae or spirit. But then again, he’s never come across fae quite like these.

 

He thinks he might need some help.

  
  
  
  
  


 

Louis’ great aunt doesn’t seem to have anything on the subject of black eyed children in her extensive library, he finds out, not even in her personal grimories. A phone call back home certainly doesn’t help; his mum has only heard of rumors of the type, but she’d always brushed them off into the hedgewitch-slash-paranormal territory.

 

He spends a few weeks chasing his tail on the subject, breaking only for the occasional visit with Harry, who doesn’t seem to know anything on it.

 

“I’ve heard  _ of _ them,” Harry says carefully over his basket of fish and chips and soda at Shipwrecked when Louis broaches the subject with him. Another basket of fish and chips sits in front of Louis, half eaten and half forgotten, while he picks at the label on his bottle of beer. Despite having asked Harry the question of whether or not he’s ever heard of black eyed children, Louis keeps getting distracted by a woman standing by the bar.

 

“In the vein of secondhand info…” Harry continues, just as carefully like he’s still working out why Louis asked and why Louis keeps looking over at the bar. Harry knows by now that Louis is absolutely a broomstick-riding, spell-weaving witch, and has a few things Louis’ made for him sitting on his bathroom counter, but there’s still things about himself Louis hasn’t told him. Like the whole seeing ghosts and fae thing. The firefighter reaches into the basket sitting between them, picking out a cheese curd and pops it in his mouth before he goes on. “Lou, you with me?”

 

“Goddess,” Louis curses, shaking himself and turning back to Harry. The Victorian woman isn’t going anywhere, after all. Her stagecoach has departed years before, and she’s not doing anything but standing by the bar. “Sorry.”

 

He places his hands on the table, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly while he counts to ten. “There’s a woman over by the bar that caught my eye.” It slips out before he can stop it, and it’s not until he sees Harry’s head turn to look that he realizes it’s hanging in the air between them.

 

Harry’s green eyes scan the pub, even turning in his seat to peer through the glass separating the pub from the microbrewery before leaning back in his chair. One arm comes up to rest on the back of the chair as his gaze fixes back on Louis. “Don’t see any woman by the bar, Louis.”

 

He can’t help it; Louis turns his head to look again. Sure enough, now that he’s said something to Harry, the woman’s completely vanished, leaving only men around the bar. And now the fact he sees ghosts is out there too.

 

“I’m sorry.” Louis repeats himself like an idiot, leaning forward in his chair as he picks up his fork to turn his attention back to the beer-battered cod in front of him. He doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes, wondering if this is what breaks up whatever they’ve got between them.

 

“You see ghosts.” It’s not really a question when Harry finally breaks the silence that had settled around them, still leaning back in his chair and staring at Louis. Louis lifts his gaze out of his basket when he hears Harry shift, mirroring his posture as the other man returns to his own basket of food. “You fly on a broomstick. You make potions that do things I’ve never seen modern medicine do.” He picks up a fry, dipping it in the ketchup before chewing it slowly. Considering. “And you see ghosts.”

 

“I said I was a witch.” Louis’ voice is low, nervous. He likes Harry, is the thing. He’s worried this new information may break them. “You also thought my great aunt was a serial killer because the men in the lives of women who came to her wound up…”

 

“I know what I said.” Harry waves off the accusation, picking up another cheese curd and offering it to Louis. “That was poor of me.” Louis’ gaze lifts from his cod to the cheese curd to Harry’s face as he takes the peace offering. “Is that why you were asking about the whole…?”

His fingers free of the curd, he waves his hand before taking one for himself.

 

“I was under the impression they were fae when I first saw them.” Louis admits, feeling a rush of relief that Harry’s not gotten up and run away. That he’s actually interested in continuing this conversation. “Because, yeah, I see fae too. You should know that part too.”

 

“You see fairies.” There’s amusement and understanding in Harry’s voice now, not like he thinks Louis’ pulling his leg, but more like things are starting to make sense for him. Harry plucks at his lower lip as he smiles across the table at Louis. “That makes sense, actually. The ghost thing too. I’ve been wondering why you keep randomly looking elsewhere whenever we hang out.”

 

He reaches across the table to twine his fingers with Louis’, and if Louis thought the rush of relief from earlier was enough, this feels like an entire waterful of relief. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Is that a you thing, or a witch thing, or?”

 

“Both, I think.” Louis laughs despite himself, reveling in the feeling of absolute acceptance Harry’s giving him. He’s never  _ really _ been truly close to non-witchfolk, never gotten a chance to properly talk about it with someone who isn’t raised in the life. He grabs a cheese curd from the middle of the table, tossing it into his mouth. “Witches are all born with varying degrees of magic, and we learn what we’re good at as we grow up. My mum’s a garden witch.” He waves his free hand in the air as he talks. “She’s got the greenest thumb I’ve ever seen, and she works with elementals a lot.”

 

“Elementals?” Harry prompts when Louis pauses in talking to take a swig of his beer.

 

“Fae, mostly.” Louis answers, setting his beer down and reaching across to grab a fry from Harry’s basket. He’s rewarded with a teasing smile. “A lot of sprites, what you’d probably call traditional fairies. We had a gnome that lived under a rose bush in our garden. A lot of my childhood was filled with making offerings to all these air and earth elementals.” He smiles at the memories of it, filled with countless afternoons of watching giggling spring and summer sprites chasing each other from plant to flower in his mum’s garden.

 

His smile widens as he sees Harry smiling across at him. “But I found my own calling when I was about six, when a relative who’d recently passed came to visit me one night. My mum didn’t immediately believe me, thought it was just a dream.” His hand lands on the table with a soft thump. “But the next day, Mum got a phone call telling her that relative had passed away. So she knew I had the makings of a hedgewitch like my great aunt.”

 

“Hedgewitch?”

 

Louis’ been barrelling through the conversation with considerable ease, but he has to take a moment to catch his breath before answering Harry’s latest question. “Uh, you know how a hedge exists around a house to keep it separate from neighboring houses? That’s kinda what a hedgewitch is. They exist on the outskirts of humanity, keeping the peace between our plane of existence and the other lands.”

 

He traces a protective rune into the table, not putting any real magic behind it so it won’t stick. “The other lands are… think of them like other realms of existence. The fae all have their various lands, ghosts exist on different ones, and so on.” He laughs a bit humorlessly. “When I was a kid, before I learned the whole shebang as a teenager, I used to think hedgewitches lived in rambling, falling down shacks in the forest and ate children. You know, like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel. I know better now.”

 

“That all sounds fascinating.” Harry breathes, still smiling. “But black eyed children aren’t a thing you’re used to?”

 

Louis shook his head, finishing off his cod. “I can’t find a single instance of them showing up in any of my great aunt’s books, and my mum’s certainly never heard of them. And you’re telling me they only exist as urban legend.”

 

“Sorry.” Harry says sheepishly as he finishes off his own food. He picks up the basket with the remaining cheese curds, letting Louis take a few before he polishes off the remaining ones. “Have you googled them? Or consulted some witchy website?”

 

Louis knows Harry’s being serious and only trying to help, but he can’t help the bark of laughter. “A witchy website? No, sorry, they don’t really exist. We don’t have a witchy version of the internet, although we certainly use it.” He pats at the table. “But I’ll definitely see if I can find anything online about them.”

 

“I’ll ask around at the fire station,” Harry offers. “And at the police station.” He stands up, checking his phone as he pulls his jacket on. “You’d be surprised what we see, even if we’re not witches like you.”

 

Louis doesn’t know why, but he can’t help but stare at Harry as he pulls on his own jacket. “Really? That’d be super helpful.”

 

“Anytime.” Harry smiles at him, his hand resting on the small of Louis’ back as the two exit the pub into a cloudy April day. They walk that way down to the small parking lot at the back of Shipwrecked to Harry’s waiting truck. “I gotta go in for an overnight shift, but I do have a question to ask you on the way back.”

 

“What’s that?” Louis asks as he climbs in.

 

Harry doesn’t immediately respond as he gets in as well, turning the key in the ignition. “That day we took that dip in the bay.” He grunts in the back of his throat, like he’s not sure how he wants to put what he wants to ask, shifting the truck to pull out. “You were staring out at the bay. Were you watching something out there?”

 

Louis doesn’t think he’s going to forget that day any time soon, and he hadn’t been aware that Harry couldn’t get it out of his head either. Although it might be for very different reasons. “There’s this one three masted ship I keep seeing, trying to make it around the tip by Gills Rock. That’s what I was watching.”

 

At his words, Harry’s head snaps toward him, eyes wide. Apparently, it’s one thing to see a random woman ghost in a pub, but seeing a three masted ghost ship is something else. “You’ve see Le Griffon?”

 

Louis blinks at him, pointing out the windshield. “Please watch the road. Being a witch doesn’t mean I’m immortal or that I can’t be hurt in a car accident. And is that what it’s called? I’ve been wondering.”

 

“I’ll have to get you something on it.” Harry looks back at the road, but he glances briefly at Louis again. “That’s amazing. People have been speculating on it for years.”

 

“It’s just a ship.” Louis blinks at him, but another surprised glance from Harry makes him lapse into silence. Now he’s really curious to see what Harry can find on it.

  
  
  
  


 

April might’ve brough showers with it, but as the calendar ticks away to May and the start of the tourist season of Door County by Memorial Day, it feels like Harry’s busy more than ever, fighting fires all over the area. Louis finds himself missing Harry nearly as much as he misses his family back in the UK. He finds that funny, honestly, considering how they’d been when they’d first met.

 

He still hears from the firefighter, of course, with the occasional phone call here and the various ghost stories sent in texts there. There’s even a few ghost books mailed to his house that he knows are from Harry. He learns all about the various ghosts in the area, and the rumors of ghosts, buries himself in learning all about the ghost ships he’s seen multiple times.

 

Louis learns about plenty of places ghosts are, and even a few fae creatures as well as stories of werewolves. He even gets a few stories of the walking dead from the people Harry works with.

 

But what he doesn’t get are stories of black eyed children. Stacks of books about Wisconsin ghosts, fae, and the other aspects of the paranormal and other lands, but absolutely  _ nothing _ about what he’s been seeing.

 

It’s frustrating, is what it is.

 

When he’s not reading the books and articles Harry sends him, he’s focusing on helping the women who come to him for help in various ways. Over the winter, he’d had some women come to him, seeking the same help they, and other women they knew, had sought from his great aunt. But it feels like with the warming weather, he gets more customers knocking on his door.

 

He’s not going to complain about the increase in people seeking his services. It certainly passes the time between when he gets to talk to Harry. It also makes him consider expanding, so to speak. There’s a few stores in the area that specialize in local goods, even a couple that skew to the aesthetic of witchcraft, if not witchfolk.

 

“I’m thinking about expanding.” Louis announces to Harry on one of the rare chances he gets to spend actual time in the firefighter’s presence. Tourism season begins in earnest in a couple more weeks, Harry had told him when he’d picked him up to grab a burger and fries at Wilson’s in Ephraim, but it’s the middle of May and gorgeous and dry, and Louis’ got Harry for company for the next couple of hours.

 

“Expanding?” Harry’s gaze teasingly drops to the table that separates the two of them, like he can see Louis’ body through it.

 

“Listen.” Louis points a crispy, golden fry at Harry. “I’ve got some clients who might be interested in a monthly supply of facial cream that makes their husband look at them in a way he hasn’t in months.” He dips the fry into his ketchup smartly. “I can probably find other people interested in the same burn and muscle creams I make you. Didn’t you tell me you’ve got fellow firefighters wondering where you get them?”

 

Harry doesn’t respond, but the smile he gives Louis emboldens him.

 

“It shouldn’t be that hard to expand my garden to accommodate the new load.” He pops the fry into his mouth, chewing with a little groan. In the time he’s known Harry, they’ve been to multiple restaurants around the area, and he has yet to be disappointed in the food at any of them. “Not that hard to just get more base liquids either.”

 

“Get yourself a little Etsy shop then?” Harry teases as he fixes his burger the way he likes it. “Can you even get the okay to that?”

 

“I could absolutely open one.” Louis says in all seriousness, struggling to keep a smile from his face at the ribbing Harry’s giving him. “But I know there’s a few stores around here that I could see if they were interested in selling them. Just… don’t be obvious about what they  _ really _ do.”

 

“So, lie that your potions and lotions are  _ actual _ magic?” Beneath the table, Harry’s feet traps one of Louis’ feet between them, keeping it from swinging. “Spoken like a true salesman.”

 

“Listen,” Louis repeats, bursting out laughing and leaning forward toward Harry.

 

But he doesn’t get the rest of what he wanted to say out. In his movement forward, Louis becomes aware of someone watching him. It’s almost a normal feeling at this point, although it’s been a few weeks since he’s felt it. It makes him turn his head toward the row of windows overlooking the interstate and the water beyond it.

 

Standing at the far edge of the road, unnoticed by the early tourists walking past them, is one of the kids Louis’ been seeing around. He recognizes that out of date jacket, that out of style hair.

 

Louis throws the fry he’d just picked up back into his basket as he gets to his feet. “Excuse me.” He tells Harry as he exits the booth.

 

“Lou?” Harry asks after him, clearly confused, but doesn’t immediately follow him, trying to signal a waitress.

 

But Louis doesn’t notice that, focused solely on leaving Wilson’s in favor of crossing the road. Unlike the last time he’d tried to approach one of the strange children, this one stays put, watching him approach with black eyes.

 

From the distance he’d always seen the kids at, Louis would’ve sworn that it was only the distance between them that had made the kids’ eyes appear black. But as he gets closer, he realizes that the kid’s entire eye is black, like the pupil hasn’t just blown to obscure the iris, but the white of the kid’s eye as well. They look absolutely alien, like they belong to an insect or a spider, not in the round, youthful face of a child.

 

The sight of those eyes up close makes a chill run down Louis’ spine.

 

But he steels himself as he approaches the child. “Why do you keep following me around?” He says as he draws near, forcing the kid to lift his head to look up at him. It’s nothing like being watched by one of the animals he shares his home with, or even when a fae creature is looking at him. This detachedness, like the child is both looking  _ at _ him and  _ past  _ him at the same time.

 

It sends another chill down Louis’ spine and makes him temporarily forget he’s the only person that sees this child.

 

The child doesn’t respond to Louis’ question, however, and he’s opened his mouth to demand again when he hears Harry call his name from across the street. The child’s head turns toward the sound, the black eyes focusing on the firefighter with a predatory alertness.

 

Even though every instinct in Louis’ body is screaming at him to not take his eyes off the child, he finds himself looking over his shoulder at Harry in alarm, hoping the other man is safe.

 

Sure enough, Harry’s only looking at Louis with a confused expression on his face, hands tucked into the front pockets of jeans. “Lou?”

 

“I’ll be with you in a sec.” Louis holds up a finger, already turning back to the child. Only to find that in the span of time it took Louis’ head to snap to Harry and back, the child has completely disappeared.

  
  
  
  


 

 

The encounter in Ephraim stays with Louis for longer than he’d like to admit, especially the predatory look that had been on the child’s face. Even the more aggressive fae he’s come across in all his years of being a witch have never had that degree of predatory behavior. He hadn’t given Harry much in the way of explanation beyond if he ever saw any strange children, to let Louis know immediately.

 

If he’s being honest with himself, the fact he’s given Harry little reason to be wary of strange children nor explained why he was yelling at nothing Harry could see, makes him feel like an arse.

 

He’s honestly expecting, after the events of Ephraim, that he’s not going to hear from Harry again. He absolutely hates that too.

 

While he waits to hear from Harry again, he watches the calendar tick away into Memorial Day. Watches the tourists pour into Door County, drawn to the beaches, national parks, and shopping the area has to offer. Drawn to the cherry trees that go from blooming pinks to fattening dark ruby red cherries.

 

While he waits to hear from Harry, Louis turns his attention to expanding his great aunt’s garden, now his garden. He’s got a few of the local shops interested in the lotions and body wash and all made from local ingredients that he can make, just like they’re interested in all local based goods.

 

The nisse brings him some help in the form of inviting some spring and summer sprites and a couple gnomes into his flourishing garden, and he rewards their help by making sure they’ve got offerings to thank them every day.

 

A few times, he finds small injured animals on his back doorstep, dropped off by the various fae in the area. Taking those in and caring for them - watched interestedly by Comfrey, Laurel and Holly - also takes up some of his time.

He is absolutely an animal sanctuary. Harry would laugh, absolutely pleased that he’d gotten Louis started down this road.

 

 

 

 

It’s a bright, warm day in June when Louis’ phone rings. He almost doesn’t hear it, focused on slicing up a batch of lavender soap bars, lulled into a doze by the repetitive action of slicing and the buzz of bees in the garden. But the cheery ringtone cuts into his daydream, bringing him to full awareness as he sets the large knife down to grab his phone off the table. The action startles the chipmunk that had been dozing in a small basket nearby, causing the little creature to chip annoyedly at him.

 

The minute his thumb hits accept but before he can say anything, Harry’s voice comes through the speaker.

 

“Lou, I need you to come over to my place as soon as you can.” Harry’s voice is calm, composed and as slow and thoughtful as ever.

 

“Harry?” Louis asks, dumbfounded. He doesn’t know why, but something about Harry’s voice throws him off. He’d spent plenty of days hoping he’d hear from Harry, but now that he has, something about it is weird.

 

“Just come over, yeah?” Harry doesn’t wait for a response, hanging up. Louis frowns as he looks down at his phone, trying to figure out what just happened. He’s been over to Harry’s place before, sure, but Harry’s never called him to just invite him over. Harry mostly just shows up on Louis’ doorstep, and sometimes they wind up back at Harry’s.

 

Louis’ thumb hovers over Harry’s call on his phone for a few seconds before Louis’ shoving his phone in his pocket and grabs his keys and broomstick on the way out. Harry had said quickly, after all.

 

 

 

The ride down to Sister Bay is quick, taking less time than it would have if Louis had driven. As he turns his broom toward Harry’s house, he can see the goats are on the roof at Al Johnson’s, one of them lifting its head to watch his descent. It’s such a difference from when he’d arrived in Door County all those months ago, he thinks as his sneakers hit the inviting green grass of Harry’s front yard.

 

He’s just about to head to the front door to ring the doorbell when movement in his peripheral catches his attention. The trio of black eyed children he’s been seeing everywhere are standing around Harry’s truck. He doesn’t see Harry inside the truck, thankfully, which makes him think Harry must be inside.

 

“What do you think you three are doing?” Louis calls, feet already moving toward the truck and the three children around it. As one, all three children’s heads turn toward him. For someone used to fae’s otherworldliness and ghosts, the action of the three children moving in unison creeps Louis out.

 

“The hedgewitch.” One of the children says, or more like intones. Just like their out of date clothing and their hairstyles, the voice is just a step off of normal. If he’d still been of the opinion they’re fae, the voice ruins that. Louis’ heard plenty of fae, but  _ none _ of them sound like they’ve never spoken a normal conversation in their existence.

 

Louis stops on the pathway leading to Harry’s front door, still a few feet away from the strange children. He tucks his broomstick under his arm, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet at shoulder width apart. He doesn’t have a cat nearby, hasn’t had to use magic in a fight in a while, but he’s hoping that it doesn’t come to that.

 

“That’s me,” is what he finally says, pulling himself up to his full height, hoping he looks more intimidating than he feels. Like he’s staking his claim on this plot of land, this house, the person inside the house. Like the sound is coming from a distance, he can hear the front door open, hear someone - he assumes it’s Harry - walk down the front steps and come a few steps toward him, but his attention is focused on the trio. “What business do you three have here? You weren’t invited. This isn’t your home, is it?”

 

“No.” The same child that had spoken before says, and Louis assumes that makes him the leader. He’s also the oldest of the three, but it’s not the same child he’d had his previous encounter with. That one is standing just behind the leader, separated by both their leader and Louis by the hood of the truck. The leader’s head turns back to the truck briefly, and this time, only his head turns. The other two continue to look at Louis, with far more interest than he’s ever seen them show. “We want to go home.”

 

“I can just drive them…” Harry breaks in, and Louis wants to look at him, wants to ask why Harry can see them now. Why he hasn’t heard a peep out of Harry since Ephraim, Wilson’s, and the strange encounter with one of these children. But Louis doesn’t want to break eye contact with the trio. It’s a fae rule, never break eye contact with a dangerous fae or they’ll trick you in response, and he’s broken it a few times already. He’d broken it in Ephraim, after all, and now he wonders if that’s why they’re here at Harry’s.

 

“You’re not driving them anywhere.” Louis tells Harry. “They can make their own way, I’m sure.”

 

“We want to go home.” The child Louis’d spoken to last in Ephraim echoes their leader. If it had been a normal child, with normal speech patterns, the sentence would’ve sounded pleading. With this child, however, it just sounds distant and detached, like the speaker doesn’t know  _ what _ a home is, nevermind  _ where _ it is.

 

“Lou, I can just-” Harry starts again, but Louis’ voice raises over his.

 

“No one here is taking you home. You have to find your own way back.”

 

The trio stare at Louis, black eyes boring into him. He wants to shiver with the chill that runs down his spine at the intense stare, but he stays as still as he can.

 

“The other one said the same thing.” The leader finally says. “The other witch. We didn’t like that.”

 

Something about that sentence makes Louis’ blood run cold. He’d thought his great aunt had died of old age; it’s what everyone in his family had thought. She’d been an old woman, after all.

 

“We didn’t kill her.” The child that hadn’t spoken speaks now, like she can read Louis’ thoughts. She looks like the youngest of the three, but sounds more like a robot that’s just figured out human intonation. “But the other…”

 

“The other?” Louis prompts, but even as he does so, he knows exactly who she means. He’s gotten good about forgetting about having found a body in his kitchen, especially as the case stretches on with no result he’s heard, but sometimes he still sees that woman slumped over his kitchen table. Again, as if she could read Louis’ thoughts, the youngest black eyed child just silently looks at him. She’s not the only one staring at him; he can feel Harry’s eyes on him too.

 

“What did she do to you?” He adds into the silence. He remembers the nisse having called the woman dreadful, but had never elaborated on why.

 

“We want to go home.” The girl echoes her companions, her voice just shy of human. “But that wasn’t  _ her _ home.” She took a step toward Louis, breaking ranks. “We liked that less than the witch telling us that we had to find our own way home.” She holds her hands out to Louis, palms up, looking for all the world like a pleading child but for her otherworldly eyes. “She died.”

 

“By your hand?” Louis asks, slowly, carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Harry stiffen at the confession, but hadn’t moved for his phone. Like he’s taking his cues from Louis. Good.

 

The black eyed child’s hands drop to her sides once more, giving a single solitary shake of her head.

 

Suddenly, although Louis doesn’t know how it gets there, a memory emerges in his mind. He’s standing in his kitchen, peering out of the window that overlooks the backyard and its garden. His face scrunches up in annoyance; there’s a trio of kids wandering through the garden. They’ve been doing that a lot lately, he’s noticed, trespassing on property that doesn’t belong to them. He blames the old bat, really, letting just  _ anyone _ on her property. Crazy old bat.

 

In the memory, Louis crosses over to the back door, practically yanking it off its hinges as he pulls it open. He leans out, glaring at the trio of kids who have stopped at the sound of the door opening. There’s something off about them, about the way they look at him in almost perfect unison, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

 

“Get the hell out of here!” He yells, slamming the door shut behind him. There’s a faint tongue clucking somewhere in the kitchen, just another in a series of strange noises he’s been hearing while he gets the house in order for that crazy bat of a great nephew.

 

“A whole family of bats,” He huffs to himself, to the silence of the kitchen. “Proof that crackpots just exist in whole families.” He returns to the cup of coffee he’d been making before he’d seen the kids crossing the backyard, muttering softly to himself. “The damn bat said her niece had popped out a whole litter of witches. Crazy bitch couldn’t keep her legs closed, could she?”

 

The faint sound of tongue clucking reaches his ears again and he glowers around the kitchen as he sits down at the kitchen table.

 

“God,” He whispers to himself as he reaches for a packet of sugar. He gives it a smart shake, ripping it open and pouring the contents into his coffee mug. “Can’t wait until the new bat takes this damn place off my hands. If I had a place like this, I’d just tear it down and put in a B&B.” He takes a long sip of his coffee, looking around the kitchen and making plans of what he’d do if this place had gone to  _ him _ instead.

 

He takes another sip of his coffee, reaching around to pull a chunk of long blonde hair forward. He’s got split ends, shit. The stress of fixing this place up is getting to him.

 

Another sip of coffee. Another disdainful look around the kitchen. “God, I hate this place. Hopefully, the new bat does the right thing and tear it the hell down.”

 

Another sip. “Although they’re probably just as insane. Again, breeding.”

 

Another sip. He opens his mouth for another comment, voice another thought. But before he can get anything out, there’s a pressure against his throat, like a hand closing around it. He chokes, gasping for air as he reaches up to pull whatever’s around his neck from it, return air to his lungs.

 

But his fingers close around nothing. He chokes for air for another moment before slumping forward, vision darkening. Before it goes completely, though, he can see one of the children he’d yelled at standing by the kitchen door, staring inside.

 

After his vision goes black, but before he slides down into it, he’s aware of that same tongue cluck as before and someone moving dishes.

 

“What was that…?” Harry’s voice is small, quiet, as Louis’ vision clears, the memory already melting in the warm air.

 

Louis’ gaze snaps toward Harry’s truck before he responds to Harry’s question, but the three black eyed children have disappeared. Somehow, although he doesn’t know why, he feels like it’s the last time he’ll see them around.

 

“I think that was the answer to the mystery the police couldn’t solve.” Louis replies, a small shiver going down his spine. “But I don’t think you can go to the police with that information.”

 

“That was…” Harry trails off, shaking himself when Louis turns toward him. “So what killed her? If not those weird kids?”

 

“I think the house did.” Louis responds after a moment’s hesitation. He can’t shake the absolute hatred that woman had had for his family, for his great aunt, for  _ him _ . Crazy bat indeed. He wraps his arms around himself, more protective of himself now that the kids are gone. “It was a witch’s house, after all, and she was disparaging my great aunt and my whole family.”

 

“Cause of death, house?” Harry stares in disbelief at Louis before bursting out laughing. The sound is a bit hysterical, a bit crazy, but it’s absolutely how Louis feels himself. It sets him off as well.

 

“Crazier things have happened.” Louis points out when the laughter finally dies down, arms dropping back to his sides. To prove his point, he sets his broom to hovering, sitting down on it and facing Harry.

 

The action makes Harry smile, even as the other man shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. They stay like that, facing each other, Louis on his broomstick and Harry standing before him, for a few minutes before Harry speaks again.

 

“I’m sorry that that was the first time we’ve spoken since….” Harry trails off, looking up toward the sky briefly before back at Louis. “Since Ephraim. I wanted to call you, stop over, but.” He coughs, looking sheepish. “Every time I’d pick up my phone to call you, I’d see you standing on the side of the road yelling at nothing. And it was easier to bury myself in work, even though I knew you were…. Well….”

 

Harry’s shoulders slump as his voice trails off again, like he’s run out of energy as well as words.

 

“Different?” Louis supplies, and Harry nods. “I thought you didn’t like me, so I stayed away. I’m happy to see you, though. And that you called me when you saw them.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Harry smiles, clearly looking relieved. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward his house. “Do you want to come in?”

 

Louis opens his mouth to say yes, but then he remembers what he’d left to come rush here. “Actually, I was cutting soap back home. Wanna come back to my place?”

 

The smile that answers him is even wider than the previous one, threatening to split Harry’s face in two. “Absolutely.”

  
  
  


 

 

“They're not going to do anything about the murder.” Harry's voice cuts into the warm haze of Louis' catnap. If June in Wisconsin had been warm, July is hot. There's a nice breeze coming off the bay that Louis can feel even from where he's in a light doze in a hammock slung in his backyard. There's a few bees buzzing amongst the lilac and lavender bushes he'd planted by the house, and in the distance, he can hear the creaking of a ill-fated ship try to make yet another pass by Gills Rock.

 

He opens his eyes, shading them from the sun as he looks toward the man standing over him. Harry's hands are tucked into the front pockets of his shorts, smiling a bit at the witch. He hasn't seen Harry since June, when they'd encountered those kids and gotten answers they wanted, but it's not like the previous vanishing. Harry's been busy with the start of summer and dry forests and tourists.

 

He's also finally gotten that haircut he's been saying he'd get for weeks now, the shorter hair just as attractive as the longer hair had been.

 

“They're not going to do anything,” Harry repeats, looking around at Louis' garden. He hasn't seen it properly since Louis expanded – the last time he'd been over, they hadn't gone anywhere that wasn't Louis' kitchen – and he nods approvingly. “You can't exactly convict a house, so they're going with undetermined.”

 

His gaze comes back to Louis' face. “And you should find that your reputation will be back to normal.” He rolled his eyes, smiling. “Ish.”

 

“Crazy bat.” Louis pushes himself out of the hammock, stretching. He doesn't miss the way Harry's eyes dart to the smooth line of his stomach bared by the tanktop Louis' wearing, and it reminds him that they haven't done anything more than kiss.

 

“You're not a crazy bat.” Harry points out with a smile, like he's aware of where Louis' thoughts are wandering. “I'm sorry I ever thought the same thing, about you or your great aunt.”

 

Louis waves a hand as he slips into his flipflops he'd tossed under the hammock before he'd climbed into it. “Water under the broomstick.” He glances over his shoulder at Harry. “You've adapted pretty well to such a world changing view.”

 

Harry's smile turns sheepish for a moment before he clears his throat. “About that.”

 

Louis turns toward him, and takes in Harry licking his lips nervously. Suddenly, he wonders why Harry decided to bring the news of the conclusion to him personally and not over the phone. “You didn't bring the details of the murder resolution to my house for a casual chat, did you?”

 

“I saw it.” The words practically tumble out of Harry's mouth fast, different than Harry's usual slow drawl. He doesn't meet Louis' eyes for a few minutes before he does once more. “One of the ghost ships. I hadn't seen one before, and spending more and more time with you makes it easier to see....” His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips as he glances up at the sky. “Things.”

 

“Things?” Louis prompts, not exactly sure what Harry means.

 

Harry's head cocks toward the side, toward a bush with large roses. Even without looking, Louis knows there's a couple summer sprites arguing over the smaller rosebuds that won't open at all this year. “I can see the pair arguing.”

 

“They always do. It's what summer sprites do.” Louis says after a moment's pause, the moment spent watching the arguing couple. One is of the opinion the rosebuds should be left on the bush for the witch, while the other wants to take a couple rosebuds back for the lovely scent. He can't decide if Harry's ashamed of being able to see the same world Louis does and that's why he's nervous about admitting he can see them, or if he's excited by it but thinks Louis wants to be the only person between them that can. “How long?”

 

“How long have I been able to see things the way you do?” Harry asks. His gaze goes around the garden again, and this time, somehow, Louis knows Harry's taking in the various fae that are a part of the patch of land or just passing through. The firefighter even lifts his gaze to the kitchen window, where Louis knows the nisse is watching them interestedly. “Just the last couple of weeks, after those kids showed up by my truck.”

 

Harry finally looks back at Louis. “They're practically everywhere, aren't they?” He doesn't say what  _ they _ he's referring to, but Louis knows. He also now knows why Harry was apologizing for having thought he was a crazy person and a killer.

 

“Yeah. I don't know what life would be like without knowing that  _ something _ is around.”

 

“How do you-” Harry begins before sighing. He rubs a hand down across his face, taking a deep breath. “I know you said you can see these things, and I believed you. But now I get it. They don't seem to be aware I can see them too, but I can see why you're always distracted by them.”

 

“It's a lot to take in if you've never been aware of them before.” Louis admits before he points at the house, letting Harry have an out if he wants it. “You wanna come in, see what I've been up to? I've got a new lotion I need someone to test.”

 

“Oh, that's right. I've seen your stuff in some of the shops around here.” Harry says as he follows Louis inside. “You went ahead with the expansion then. That explains the larger garden, which you said you wanted to do.”

 

“I did. It's a nice little side gig in between things.” He says agreeably, picking up a small container of lotion and held it out to him. “Lilac and honey goat milk lotion. I'm trying to figure out how strong to make the scent.”

 

Harry takes the small container, sniffing at it before scooping out a bit and rubbing it on the back of his hand. “I think you got the scent down.” He takes some more, rubbing it into his skin with a smile. “And all natural, all local ingredients?”

 

“I got the goat milk from the creamery down in Sister Bay. The lilac comes from right out back.” Louis grins at him, hopping on the counter. The nisse, busying herself with making both of them sandwiches, tsks at him for disturbing her, but continues on with her task.

 

Harry sets the container of lotion down, crossing the distance between them and resting his hands on either side of Louis' legs, bracketing Louis in on the counter. “We should set you up with a hive or two or something.”

 

“We?” Louis' eyes drop to Harry's mouth, so close to his own. It'd be so easy to lean forward, so tempting to press their mouths together. It's been a while since they've kissed, and Louis didn't think he'd miss it as much as he has. And if Harry's gaze at his stomach earlier was any indication....

 

“Yeah.” Harry's hand moves to Louis' thigh as he slots himself between Louis' legs. “Not that I want in on the profits, but I wouldn't mind helping you with the ingredients.”

 

The nisse tsks at the both of them, but they both ignore her in favor of each other.

 

“And what do you want in return, if not a portion of the profits?”

 

The hand that had been on Louis' thigh moves up to cup the back of his neck, pulling Louis into a slow, lingering kiss. Harry's lips are dry and a bit rough, in need of chapstick. It gives Louis a bit of an idea for a new product. “Product tester.”

 

Louis can't help the chuckle that bubbles out of his throat as Harry repeats Louis' thoughts, seemingly without being aware of it. “A product tester, huh? You put some money in, help me get the ingredients, and you get free shit to try out?”

 

“I've never had smoother skin in my life than I have since I started using your magic potions and lotions,” Harry teases warmly, his hand moving down once more, both hands going to Louis' hips to lift him up from the counter. The movement makes Louis lock his legs around Harry's waist instinctively.

 

“Not in my kitchen.” The nisse warns, brandishing her knife at the two of them. Harry nods to her in acknowledgement, carrying Louis upstairs.

 

Damn. Louis'd had some fantasies involving Harry, ones he'd never properly acknowledged, but the strength of the firefighter – and the fact he's a  _ firefighter _ – hadn't factored into them.

 

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Just like before, Louis can't help the giggle that bubbles up this time as he wraps his arms around Harry's neck. “You can't just manhandle me in my own home. House doesn't like that.”

 

“The house,” Harry intones dryly, the hint of laughter in his voice, “is quite supportive of my actions, because the current owner is.”

 

He's not wrong, because Louis is  _ definitely  _ supportive of Harry's actions. But he's not willing to give in just yet. “What makes you think I'm this easy? Are you getting in my pants to be a product tester?”

 

“I don't think you're  _ this _ easy.” Harry admits as he carries Louis into his bedroom, setting him on the bed. “But you're also not saying no.” He taps the tip of Louis' nose. “And I don't have to get into your pants to be a product tester. I know you already like the idea.”

 

“Feels a bit out of left field, you chasing me like this all of a sudden.” Louis admits, reaching up to pull Harry into a kiss.

 

“Was always chasing you,” the firefighter chuckles, hands already pulling off Louis' tanktop. “Just didn't think about how much I wanted you until you're not constantly in my life while I'm trying to adjust.”

 

Louis blinks up at him, momentarily distracted. It's not that he doesn't want Harry's hands to wander where they're going, but he didn't think their time spent together was really Harry  _ chasing  _ him. He'd just thought it was them being friends, or Harry trying to be friendly. “What?”

 

“Was it not that obvious?” Harry pulls back to look him in the eye. “I mean, I know we started out on the wrong foot, and then that whole knocking you into the freezing bay. But I like you, and you like me, right?”

 

“Of course...” Louis leaned forward to kiss him. “I guess I just didn't think we were on the same page.”

 

Harry doesn't respond, just chuckles and leans in to kiss him deeper. There's a part of Louis that just wants to continue kissing him, just stay like this, but he also wants Harry's hands back on him.

 

His fingers find their way to the buttons on Harry's shirt, working it open until he could push it down Harry's shoulders, all while not breaking away from kissing Harry. He slides his hands down to the fly of Harry's shoulders, just popping the button when there's a clatter downstairs in the kitchen. The sound makes Harry pull away.

 

“Do you think she can hear us up here?” Harry asks, sending a nervous look toward the door.

 

Louis rolls them over with a little chuckle, straddling Harry and making short work of Harry's fly. “I think she'll see herself out. She's fae, Harry, and she's been our champion since day one.”

 

“Our champion, huh?” Harry's hands settle on Louis' thighs, his fingers sliding under the hem of them.

 

“Yup.” He shifts, getting his own shorts off and settling once more when they're both in their underwear. “So you can see her now, huh? She's a nisse, and...” He trails off as he slides a hand into Harry's underwear, wrapping his hand around his cock. “Do you really want to talk about her while you've got me in bed?”

 

Harry groans, hips rocking up. “Good... good point.”

 

“Glad you think so.” He fumbles in his nightstand for a few seconds before pulling out a small jar. “Speaking of things that could use a tester...”

 

He scoops out a bit of the whipped contents of the jar, rubbing it between his fingers and getting a whiff of coconut before reaching down to wrap his hand around Harry's cock once more. Harry groans in clear approval, eyes falling shut.

 

“This.. this one of the things you're selling in stores...?” The firefighter gasps out as his hips rise to meet Louis' strokes.

 

“Not yet.” He responds, his thumb tracing up the vein on the underside of Harry's cock. “Can't quite get certain parts figured out.”

 

There's no answer to that, just groans and moans, but Harry must approve of the homemade lube because he's coming with a low groan after a few more minutes.

 

“Shit,” Harry breathes at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. The sight of this handsome firefighter in his bed, panting after his orgasm, is more than enough for Louis to scoop up some more of the coconut lube and stroke himself off quickly.

 

Louis slumps forward to land on Harry's chest, mirroring Harry's panting. Both of their stomachs are a smeared mess, and they'll have to shower later. But for now, he's quite content to listen to Harry's heartbeat, and the soft droning of bees down in the garden, and the far off sound of creaking wood as a ghost ship makes its way past Gill Rock.

 

Between the orgasm and the nature sounds, Louis feels himself falling asleep. He can't help the smile that crosses his lips as he goes, contentedly aware that while he might have arrived in Wisconsin back in December unnoticed and strange as his feet had touched the ground outside his great aunt’s house, it hadn’t taken long before he’d found a body and had his first encounter with Harry. Then he’d kept running into Harry until they’d become friends, and more, all while being observed by an even more strange trio. They’d discovered what had had caused the death of the woman Louis had found, and it had led to Harry seeing the world the way Louis does. Which led Harry to Louis once more, and to this moment.

 

He chuckles softly, falling asleep. He's still strange but he's definitely been noticed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated! <3
> 
> You can find me over [here](http://doncasterkitten.tumblr.com/).


End file.
